


A Tale of a Wedding

by Susamo



Series: A Knight of Arkon in 1149 [6]
Category: Perry Rhodan - Various Authors
Genre: Atlan Adventure in time, F/M, The Knight of Arkon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26712871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susamo/pseuds/Susamo
Summary: Having made his peace with Roger Fitzmiles de Gloucester and having found an ally in him, Atlan da Gonozal in his role as a knight from Toulouse can, at last, marry his lovemate Alexandra of Lancaster in handfasting.The while, elsewhere matters develop further as well…
Relationships: Atlan da Gonozal/ Alexandra of Lancaster
Series: A Knight of Arkon in 1149 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938052
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	A Tale of a Wedding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Palatinedreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palatinedreams/gifts).



> Sanctuary at the altar’s steps was common in the middle ages; sometimes it was enough to touch a certain spot at the church’s door to be granted such a respite from the law pursuing a criminal or to a man who had to flee from his enemies. Yet, it still was a matter of the said enemies having enough honour and fear of God for this to work. Thomas Becket, for example, was an archbishop and was killed right at the altar too…
> 
> The practice of handfasting was used for betrothals and temporary weddings, as well as for fully valid weddings for life outside the office a priest could give. The Olden Saxons and Vikings married this way in pagan times, and it was practiced up till Tudor times. Then, though a marriage in handfasting was accepted as valid, it was expected that the couple would marry later once more in church and with the blessing of a priest. Those who refused had to pay a fine-but that was in times later than the one we tell of here.

A Tale of a Wedding 

Gromell the Fletcher never had let go of his dagger and still had it in his hand, no matter that the church was quiet now and the shouting had died down hours ago. Only the candles burning by the altar and the sanctuary lamp in its lantern hold of red glass lighted up the slowly dimming vault around the altar. In the background, three nuns were on watch and had even brought their sanctuary sparrows milk and water and bread, and had offered them mantles of warm wool against the coolness of the stone steps where they had to stay if they wanted to claim sanctuary and keep sure of it. They had been glad to accept indeed, and now lady Alexandra sat huddled into her mantle, though she defiantly had not covered her head and had proudly kept it upright in the face of the captain of the Earl of Hereford’s guards who had demanded she should surrender, and in the face of the abbess and even her aunt who had come to look at her niece silently but with a bitter mien that scarcely hid her anger and chagrin.

Just beyond the altar vault below the steps, four guardsmen with their captain waited in grim patience with their swords drawn for any careless movement of their prey. The abbess had come to give sanctuary as it had been begged for and claimed, with lady Alexandra desperately clutching the foot of the altar’s cross and Gromell doing the same with one hand while he knelt with his body shielding hers, his dagger brandished in the other hand ready to fight for his lady even here under the sacred eyes of Christ.

The abbess’ appeal to the men to sheathe their weapons in the church had fallen on deaf ears. The guards, men of Earl Roger Fitz Miles who was notorious for his disrespect for the church and some things others regarded as holy, did not stand down a single step, and Gromell had in response but smiled wolfishly and promised the first man who would disrespect sanctuary and the altar a warm and sharp welcome.

So they were at a standoff and only could stare at each other. Whether the men would dare drag them down from the altar’s steps as soon as they let down their guard and fell asleep still was a question and a risk he did not dare take, Gromell thought. If only the magic wolf and the falcon were here, then they could keep the guards busy, and they might have a chance to run. But there was no saying how many other guards were posted within the cloister’s grounds and where, and they might soon be stopped and taken. The only one who really could help them was his master who would have to escape and do some magic, as it could be assumed, or who else would have to come to terms and an agreement with the earl whom he had been dragged away to see.

Suddenly the door to the courtyard opened and let in the last light of dusk and a whole group of men clad in rich clothes and mantles. Foremost was a tall man with russet hair and a beautifully stitched surcoat, sword at his side, and with him-

With a cry lady Alexandra sprang up and made to run down the steps. Gromell could just hold her and warn her not to be incautious. They had to wait for Sir Atlan’s word first, no matter what.

But the red-eyed knight who was no human at all, as his squire knew, but one of the Fair Folk-or even something else-was striding forward with a smile, and held out his arms for his lady who flew into them down the steps. The earl, behind him, held his men back with a gesture.

With a long sigh and poorly concealed relief, the Saxon stood and pointedly sheathed his dagger before he bent to take up the saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder, and came down the steps to greet his master, ignoring the guardsmen who were sheathing their swords now too, looking stunned and a little embarrassed, perhaps suddenly remembering that they had kept their swords naked in a church for hours.

Atlan and his bride were embracing hard, oblivious to the scandalized gazes of the nuns or the wry smile of the Earl.

“We are safe and in accordance with Earl Roger de Gloucester, my love,” he simply said. “All else later.” 

She nodded, her eyes shining. Her lover’s explanation about “accordance” said it all. Earl Roger Fitzmiles was on their side, the Angevin side, and the two men must have come to terms and spoken of matters to each other, and seemed to have become allies. All was well indeed, God and the Sweet Virgin be thanked! Now even her father, arriving at the last moment, would not be able to step between her beloved man and her since he had to obey his liege lord, and the earl of Hereford seemed to be won to the scheme of the handfasting marriage since he watched with a little smile and did not look askance at all, at such an embrace right here in the priory church.

With long but still dignified strides the abbess came up, having been called by a nun, and behind her came the prioress and the sister infirmartrix who had a cold and very misgiving look upon her face, though both the Arkonide and his bride chose to ignore her completely as they turned to greet the Reverend Mother, their hands holding fast to each other’s, though.

She gave the properly bowing and curtsying couple a sharp look, which rested on their hands just long enough to convey her meaning, but she inclined her head graciously still. No doubt she knew all about the alleged rape and the abduction of her infirmartrix’ niece, the interview the nun had had with the earl sheriff’s constable and her accusations, even charging the red-eyed knight with possible sorcery. For that, the strange knight had been arrested, but that he came back here free and accompanied by Earl Roger proved well enough that the earl of Hereford had not found enough fault with the man and must have agreed to see these two married. As the lady’s overlord and the liege of her father he could do that, and not even Sir Poins would be able to forbid it-what he could do, of course, was that he could disinherit his daughter to punish her disobedience. 

If she did it only to save her honour and had agreed to marry a man she hated for the will he had had of her, then lady Alexandra would have been a poor victim of violence, and the church could have offered her sanctuary and a safe place as a novice and later a nun. But the way these two had embraced and now held hands-if the young lady had been forced at the start one could not know. But that now she was not forced was a matter no longer to be doubted. She must want this marriage as badly as her paramour, it seemed; and perhaps the knight was not as much to be faulted as sister Benedicta had said, who had been so shocked by the fact that the knight was halfway excommunicated.

But the abbess, daughter of a powerful baron, had more political savvy than her sister infirmartrix and could well imagine that this man was personally all innocent of any crime against the church, and should perhaps not be punished further for being under the bannum adnegationis beneficiorum-especially if one took into account what else one had heard about proven cures for free and even the new sickness from the Holy Land having been fought successfully. If the strange physician-knight married the lady now he was doing the right and honourable thing, and if he indeed renounced any claim he might have on any dowry or property of his lady, or anything she might inherit, then he stood revealed of being honourable indeed, and not even Sir Poins of Lancaster could accuse him of any other intent.

With a smile, Earl Roger stepped forward to greet the abbess in his turn and apologized for the inconvenience of his men having taken up guard throughout the cloister, and promised to have them withdrawn, now that any accusation against this honourable knight had been proven false and he was set free with all honour. If any fault of his still had to be remedied, then that would be done within the shortest order. They would have a wedding to celebrate on the morrow, after morning mass in front of the opened doors of the cathedral and in the presence of His Grace the bishop of Hereford.

Atlan savoured the wide eyes and the tell-tale blush upon his bride’s cheeks as she heard how she would be married the following day. Being who and what he was her husband to be could not marry her within a church and with a Christian ceremony since he wasn’t even baptized and could not adhere to the church of Rome or hand himself over to the authority of a mortal human man, just because he was a priest of the said church. 

But he had gotten her the next best thing. With the bishop’s presence, the church was condoning and supporting this marriage, and it would not only be held in front of a church instead of in a hall or under an oak tree, but it was to be held in front of the cathedral of Hereford with its door open!

That way the sanctity and the blessing of the church were symbolically enlarged to encompass what was happening in front of these gates. The bishop of Hereford could not lift a ban an archbishop had thrown in the name of the pope himself, but he could show that the man concerned was himself regarded innocent and would receive every beneficiation the church could give-but for the sake of his worldly bond of being the liege-man to an overlord who was under ban for his sins by right.

Sister Benedicta her aunt stood very stiff and erect and had blanched considerably. With the bishop himself condoning and supporting this there was nothing left that she could do or criticize. She could not even intervene claiming to be the only relative of authority in town, because first, Alexandra was of age since Poins had waited so long to marry her off, and second because she on her part was a nun retired from the world and surely had no voice in a matter which the woman’s liege-lord and liege of her father was condoning and supporting.

For a last long moment their eyes met, the nun’s glance full of anger and anguish, the young woman’s full of quiet strength and joy, and then the nun turned and quietly left, soon followed by the abbess who had wished them God’s blessing and had been rewarded for the sanctuary she had offered by a generous gift “for the priory’s needs”.

With a light heart, Alexandra of Lancaster felt her future husband’s loving touch as he offered her own mantle to her and his arm to escort her out of the church and to her horse waiting for her. The wolf was back and so was the falcon, circling overhead and crying shrilly.

“We are to lodge in the castle as earl Roger de Gloucester’s guests, and stay for another night-he’s offered to be host to our wedding feast, and I won’t have you spend your wedding night in a shabby inn or on the road. That way the wedding will also be as official and honourable as we can make it, and fully acknowledged by church and king as well as that is possible”, the Arkonide said to her sotto voce, and elegantly, his eyes sparkling, kissed her hand.

“Why?” she dared to ask, in a whisper, and he grinned and as softly answered:” He’s the recipient of the third letter.”

Alexandra’s eyes widened and she stared at her beloved incredulously, then she suddenly had to giggle. What joy! What luck! It seemed all their problems were solved all in a stroke!

It was only when they were alone in a lavish guest chamber and Gromell was unpacking and laying out the festive clothes to have his master change and look his best that they discovered that Atlan had had to pay a hard price for having won the earl as their ally. There were angry welts at his wrists and ankles which had been salved and bound, and were already on the mend, healing with non-human speed, but the unmistakable traces of torture, at least of the lighter kind, were there.

“The fiend!” Alexandra whispered, her fingers covering her mouth while tears ran down her cheeks.

“Beloved, it’s all right now”, Atlan tried to soothe her and took her into his arms, stroking her hair and her back.

“He was much more careful with me than he would have been with a peasant or compared to how Sir Surrey would have treated me. He threatened more than he put into action, and the damage done was little in comparison, and soon will be nothing since I heal quicker than a mortal human does. Don’t worry. I’ll be perfectly all right by tomorrow morning, and as to torture as such-at least with me answering him under coercion he believed me. I told him repeatedly that I knew nothing about your father, knew him only as an honest man, and never had heard or seen anything of him which could have to do with treason. Since he asked me several times and threatened me sufficiently he believed me then. After that, he released me-I’ll have to tell you still why and how, but later in the night after dinner-and he thought me ignorant of your father’s affairs till I realized that he was on Alan Fitzurse’s side, and had learned that the third letter was addressed to him. Then I revealed myself to the earl sheriff as the one who had found Fitzurse dying and had taken his letters, and obtained his assent that it should be me also who conveyed them to their recipients.”

At that Gromell sent his master a long look. He had of course noticed what might have escaped Alexandra-that the guardsmen of the earl of Hereford seemed to be extremely wary of his master and kept him in their sight at all times, and that several of them looked somewhat the worse for wear-one or two sported black eyes or moved quite stiffly, or limped. The conclusion lay not far off that the knight from Faery, or from the stars, had fought his captors at one point and must have been successful in making more trouble than the Earl and his men could stomach.

“The further point is, that when he realized that I had known all along about your father being involved in a mysterious affair that most likely had to do with treason, he respected me the more for not having betrayed your father when he threatened me. It was of course only true that I knew nothing at all, but that he was to translate secret letters and send them on, and that the whole matter logically must be an Angevin enterprise launched against king Stephen-logically to be deduced from the recipients, and the source of the letters. Since I have an idea about what is brewing up there in the north by observation from afar-by my personal means-I know what, basically, is going on and what, basically, your father must be doing and risking, too.”

Alexandra shivered, hard, and held on the harder to her lover and husband-to-be. That she was afraid for her father was obvious, and it was true that Poins was taking a high and possibly deadly risk. 

“Now, since I have revealed myself to him and he has seen that I would keep true even under threat and coercion, the Earl of Hereford trusts me the better, became a true ally, and has agreed to everything I asked for.”

“Including to playing host to our wedding and even the feast, and ourselves.” The young woman looked up into her lover’s eyes with a growing smile.

“Aye-though I believe that a good part of that readiness stems from Earl Roger’s desire to oppose the church and vex its authorities. Judging from the wolfish grin he showed when we discussed the matter.”

Gromell grinned. “Yet Bishop Gilbert himself will be attending and at least give some blessing…”

“Bishop Gilbert is Earl Roger’s kinsman and owes some grace to him now that the earl has bowed his head to him to get the ban against him lifted.” Atlan smiled grimly. “Apart from that, I have sent substantial bribery-ah, sorry, alms-to his palace. A second purse went into the earl’s coffers for the fine I had to pay for abducting and seducing you, my love. And a third has already gone to the parish for having us handfasted tomorrow morning. So our way is clear and burnished with gold.”

Sending him a worried look Alexandra stepped back. “Can you afford that much? Perhaps-“

Laughing he took her around the waist and kissed her soundly, and then turned around with her a few times.

“My love, have you forgotten who, and what, I am? If I run out of money at some time I can simply send the order for my servants to bring me more-gold, silver, pearls, jewels, you name it. And if the treasury of my-house- were empty, which it isn’t-then I can simply have more of what humans think valuable taken from the mountains and the sea. Do not worry. Those riches will last for many more thousands of years.”

For a moment the Arkonide’s bride was taken aback and saw her expression mirrored upon the squire’s face.

“Infinite wealth like this, that is fairy-tale indeed. Oh, Atlan, I truly forgot for a moment.” She cocked her head, and smiled impishly, and suddenly became serious and grave.

“That’s seal-people and mermen getting the pearls and the dwarves digging the ores and jewels up for you, don’t they? Jesus Christ. You aren’t just a knight or a prince of Faery, are you, my love? If the dwarves and the mer-folk obey you, you must be more like a king in my opinion. So tell me, my love-since I’ve agreed to marry you and you will do that for me in the human way-whom will I marry in truth? What-what will my state be, in your world-and will your people accept me and your sovereign condone our marriage also?”

Atlan took a deep breath. He should have seen this coming. Gromell and Alexandra, and she even more than the young squire, had faithfully listened to what he had told of his personal story and believed him, and even had understood that he had come from the stars, and wasn’t living in some fairy hill. 

But unlike Gromell, who had but connected his tale to the fairy-tales he knew about, like for example the one about King Arthur and Merlin-which was history in truth-, Alexandra of Lancaster had had a full-blooded Welsh grandmother, and that grannie’s younger sister Angharad had taken a mother’s place for a while when Alexandra’s own mother had died. She had said that any Celt would know him for what he possibly was when he saw red eyes and white hair upon a man whose face was young, but whose gaze was deep and spoke of the experience he had and the time he had seen go by. Further, she had said that she understood that he could make use of powerful magic without having sold his soul to the devil, because he was born to it, within his world.

And she had called her lover to be one of the Tylwythen deg, the Fair Folk.

He had explained the truth about himself after that, telling a very different story, but he hadn’t taken the time between kisses and caresses that night to unmistakeably affirm that he had nothing to do with any Fair Folk or Faery as human legends told of it, or the Otherworld as the barbarians had believed in it for hundreds, now thousands of years. If he was fool enough to give in to his memories, he could have gone back remembering the Roina, the true Seal People of old, whom he had first met four thousand human years ago. At the time when he had met Llewella at around 31 years before Christ had been born, those Sealkies had become legend and myth themselves and were thought to be magical beings belonging to the otherworld, who in truth had been but ordinary men trying to survive on barren rock and within cold wind and a rough sea. They had learned to build boats of whalebone and whale skin, sealing such a boat tight around their bodies as they sat in it, one small boat or batog to a man, wearing tight-fitting garments and hood of seal-skin to protect him from the weather. No different now with the tales and stories about Arthur and Merlin or about Morgan Le Fay.

For a moment he saw her haggard face, contorted with fear and hate, before his eyes, trying to fight him off to the last-him, the Husband of the Lady whom she had neglected to kill when she had gone for Her, poisoning her to win for herself the magic powers this magic lady did possess in her conviction. But that had not worked out as Morgana had expected, and instead of adding the coireann’s powers to hers, she had felt hers ebb, curiously. And she had heard the psychic cry of the lady’s husband at her death, a scream echoing and re-echoing around the hill and in her memory till she faced him physically in that Vale which he had not allowed her to return from.

“Apart from the reputation you had when you met Ellhya first, among the Silures of Ewyas and of Glywysing, or among the draoichtas folk upon Mona-Arawn Pen Annwn, lord of the otherworld and its high king, its brenin goruchel-who was an aspect of Death to these men too”, the logic sector threw in, maliciously. “Be glad if Alexandra doesn’t know of such aspects of a fairy knight or lord, or even a king.”

A Saxon would not have known about the Fair Folk with their hair white and their eyes red, granted. He had been glad of that Welsh grandmother and Welsh great-aunt of Alexandra’s before, whose ideas and knowledge of fairy-tales she had handed on to her grand-niece, letting her accept his story without demur and full of belief. But now he was not sure anymore whether he still was as glad when Alexandra thought him to be a lord of the Fair Folk with all that entailed. He would have to make her misapprehension and the difference clear, and much clearer than before.

“Not just a lord or a knight, dear keon-athor who bears the title of the Gos athor da Arkon with full right as well. She thinks you to be a prince now or even a king of a fairy hill, and who could deny her the logical conclusion she drew from these few careless words of yours?”

Words which he could not easily have avoided, and whose content-the one about wealth inexhaustible-would only have come up as a topic later when Alexandra saw that he truly had money to spend as much as he wanted without ever earning any or being gifted with anything. A horse and a saddlebag could only carry so much, and that his saddle-bag contained clothes and food as well as a satchel full of medicines the young woman knew well enough.

She still looked up at him, her eyes questioning him, though the language of her body affirmed that she trusted her husband-to-be in every respect. She was just asking; she just wanted to know, being unsure what to expect of her married life, which, though a bishop’s blessing would be given them tomorrow, would not in itself be blessed by the church. A peasant or a simple knight could be married in such a way. A nobleman of higher rank or a king could not. The marriage would be valid in itself, but the rights of inheritance of wife and children could too easily be disputed. They were not in Wales, where a son was a son whether he was born in wedlock or out of it.

“Cariad. Anwylyd mau. The story I told you about who and what I am, and where I come from, is the only true one. I’m of the star kind, and of that kind I am the only one in the world. Down in my-house-at the bottom of the sea I have servants that obey me; they are subject to my kind and have been-created, one could say-by my kind. My steward Rico down there is the greatest one of them; others are the wolf or the falcon who accompany me.”

No use now to start explaining what a robot was, the Arkonide thought fleetingly. Alexandra would need and get a lot of hypno schooling courses, but slowly and in time, and so might Gromell if he would accept that kind of knowledge.

“Still others do work for me like gathering goods or things valuable to humans like jewels or gold or pearls. They are not dwarves like the tales and lays of humans tell about them, and neither am I of the Fair Folk-not like you know it from your great-aunt’s tales.”

No, but the connection to the Than–ans of true history was there, because the tales of the Tuatha De Danann had arisen from Atlantis being drowned and the children of the Star People escaping the catastrophe-and that was a true tale and history indeed, as he had learned later.

“The stories you know about the Tylwythen deg, Alexandra, are legends humans tell to each other. They have little to do with me or my kind. What you can expect is to live with me within the world of men as you know it, or in lands that are unknown here in England, but still are part of this world of men. My house down in the sea we will visit also, one day. But whoever-and whatever-is awaiting us there is strictly under my command. You will have to fear nothing and no-one of my family or folk, since I am all alone and the only one of my kind in this world, and among men.”

She bowed her head, a little blush reddening her cheeks. “I understand, my love.” Suddenly she looked up, her green eyes flashing for a moment.

“You speak of our sojourn here, in the world of men, my love. I understand that you have become a teacher and protector of men in this world and have been that for centuries. But –what about the otherworld? You say that you came from the world of the stars, from the place you call Arkon, and that we humans never told stories about that because we do not know that world. Perhaps we know nothing about Arkon, leofwine. But we know what we meet when we see red eyes and white hair. And so much else of what you are and can do is the same as in the stories you say humans only tell! You are immortal, and such a great warrior and harper-“

Alexandra’s voice, lowered into an urgent whisper, rose again. “I do not question you, leofwine. I just want to know and understand what is expected of me, and what I will meet!”

Smiling tenderly Atlan took her into his arms the tighter and just kissed her, and felt his love melt in his arms, her back becoming less stiff as she leaned into his embrace.  
She was calling him leofwine, the Saxon word for “beloved friend”. It was a sign of her agitation that she would slip back to a purely Saxon expression with him. Before that, they had spoken Norman French as well as Saxon English of the nobler way of speaking that language.

“I see what you mean, cariadol.” He smiled at her warmly. “And you are right to question me on that-in fact it just proves how well you think ahead and see the truth and how matters are. Yet-please believe me, cariadol. But for the world of Arkon and the stars which I cannot reach by myself, now that my ship and my crew are lost and have been lost for thousands of years, there is no such world or otherworld I know of that I could or would go to with you.”

His smile widened into one of making fun while his red eyes twinkled. “But for the case that such a world would have to reach out to the human one and someone else would breach the walls between what God has separated when he created the universe.”

Relieved Alexandra nodded and smiled, and so did Gromell, feeling better all of a sudden. So that question was settled for sure.

But the Arkonide felt a sudden chill remembering shapes appearing on screen, data sent by the observation of spybots, shapes which had come from another universe, materializing and suddenly existing in truth, beings who had had no understanding of right or wrong, only of what was, and was not. They had let themselves be guided by the thoughts of men they had read and caught, the first moment they had stepped into this universe, as they had explained it, through a gate or a rift in reality. If Rico’s calculations and the ones of the Dome positronicon were correct, that had been no sham but simple truth. In fact, those beings who had called themselves the ones who would tarry awhile had been beings of pure energy and were neither malicious nor dangerous in themselves. But having taken shape and modeling their character and behaviour upon what humans expected of such a shape and such a being, they had been able to become dangerous indeed. Yet they had heeded the words of the Guardian of this world and had obeyed him, most of them. Others-he had had to fight, and that had been no picnic. When another energetic constellation like the one at the mihi-thelees’ appearance had formed, most of them had left again, satisfied with the experience they had had. Though not all of them had gone.

Was it a coincidence that Rico had mentioned that once more comparable energetic conditions were forming, and that Alexandra should put such a question to him now?  
Ellhya would have laughed and thrown back her head, and would have spoken of dán, of Fate, and how it had to be challenged.

Atlan’s smile grew sharp. Let them challenge dán, then!

At the dinner table the Earl was all graces, and so were the knight from Toulouse and his Promised. The gracious host had two very gracious guests, with the knight telling all kinds of stories from the crusade and the Holy Lands, and, curiously, even from Paris where he had been “some four years ago”. Neither Alexandra nor Gromell, who was serving his master at table, caught the allusions they noticed were there. It seemed to be an ironic game Earl Roger and the red-eyed knight were playing with each other. There was a lot going on, they knew, which Atlan had not been able to tell them about yet. So Alexandra ate, and smiled, and made small talk, and hoped for later when they would meet in their room again to be enlightened at long last.

But before that, the knight from Toulouse was invited to the Earl’s private chambers “to have a little talk further”. With a bow and an elegant kiss of her hand, the Arkonide took leave of his lady who was brought back to their room by a servant and Gromell and went with the earl, the letters in his hand.  
Of course they contained only gibberish, so far. But the address of the third one seemed to point to Earl Roger de Gloucester with telling the messenger to go hunt lions in the lily’s meadow.

From memory, and reading the letter already as if it were written plainly, Atlan copied the text down for Earl Roger. He expected his suspicious host to be suspicious of the letter also, and most of his transcription. But when Earl Roger read that his staff was to be returned to him, he smiled broadly and nodded.

“The staff referred to is the lord High constable’s staff as his father held it under king Henry”, the logic sector explained. “Not any cleric’s staff as you originally have surmised.” So. That made sense the more and almost made him sure he had the right recipient on his hands.

The more probable the whole address and the message seemed to be, now, and Earl Roger seemed to accept the message and the letter without doubt, believing and trusting his new ally better than the Arkonide had expected it. He let the red-eyed knight explain to him how he had found the key to the transcription and nodded appreciatively. 

“Well-done, Sir Atlan”, he smiled, and read his letter again with interest.

“So I am to go and meet with the Young Lion, Son of the Lily, him with three lords and three maidens, at the castle of the boundaries.” A sharp look was suddenly trained at the still writing knight who was copying out the other two letters which were to be sent into Wales.

“Do you know, Sir Atlan, what that is to mean?”

“I believe so, yes, Your Grace.” The Arkonide bowed his head and set down more of his elegant script onto the good parchment the earl had provided. These were the letters taken down in plain English, which was not a form of message that could be transported and delivered to Wales as it was. They would have to re-encrypt the missives before they left this castle of the Earl of Hereford.

“And?”

Atlan looked up and met the Earl Sheriff of Hereford gaze for gaze.

“I believe that means that you are to meet with young Prince Henry FitzEmpress at Devizes Castle, Your Grace”, he retorted.

Slowly Roger Fitzmiles nodded. “And so I must and knew that we were to meet”, he said. His eyes never left the strange knight’s face. “It is a lot of trust that is asked of me to give to a total and mysterious stranger.”

The Arkonide held out his open hands, symbolically offering himself. Earl Roger grimaced slightly and only waved any argument aside.

“I am not going to have you tortured again, Sir Atlan”, he said gruffly. “You have proven to me that you will keep confidence and lie in any way you must, feigning ignorance, even under dire coercion. Neither could you have found the path, or would have been trusted by poor Alan Fitzurse if you had not been instructed in advance and had not been of our party from the start-though sent on this mission by your liege-lady. I will not ask now how she knew, and whom she is in secret contact with to have obtained such details.”

Atlan rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers and sighed.

“Do you know, Sir Knight?” the earl suddenly demanded in a sharp tone. “Confidence for confidence, Sir Minstrel! You have me in the palm of your hand now, me and the whole Angevin movement, and even our Lord Prince himself if you decided to betray us. What if I did not trust you and feared you would not carry the letters to Wales, but would hand them on to Stephen together with a lot of interesting tales? A lot of good men would then be hunted and most likely be hanged, I included, and our Prince might get captured, while you, the landless knight from Toulouse, surely would receive good lands and a sturdy castle to hold from grateful Stephen. You might be a count in England within the month instead of a landless knight bound to a banned liege. You could marry your lady in Winchester cathedral then instead of in front of open doors! “

“What makes you so sure that I am but a landless knight?” the Arkonide softly replied and saw the earl go still from one moment to the next.

“You have nothing but my word on that and well believed me, which pleases me to have been so convincing. But you have learned by now already that I have not been entirely truthful on more than one subject, or rather have not told you everything that might be told.”

Earl Roger could not suppress an ironic smile which was mirrored by a like one of the strange knight.

“That I know how to command and know some strategy you have noticed yourself, have even asked me about that. You wondered about my skills in organizing and directing the clean-up at Abergavenny. Now you know about my errand to the north where I happened upon poor master Fitzurse. Do you think that such an errand would be entrusted to a man who is more a soldier of fortune than a man dedicated to his liege and her cause? Do you believe that a man who could easily be bribed could be trusted with such schemes as are concerned with that matter of the Honour of Lancaster? You know whom I will have to negotiate with. Do you think that a lowly knight no-rank has been educated and is used to dealing with kings and princes and dukes and other mighty men on an equal level, or rather, on the level of an emissary who is expected to hold his ground against such men and who has the political and strategic savvy to hold his own and his liege’s among them?”

Clearing his throat the earl Sheriff of Hereford shook his head.

“No”, he answered with brutal openness. “That is exactly the point which had me wondering still.”

The red-eyed knight simply nodded and went back to his writing. Without looking up he went on.

“Your Grace, it is simply true that I cannot marry my lady love in the church, or I would do so, and any camouflage be damned. It is also true that right now I do not have lands to govern in France, but am, so-to-say, landless indeed. That does not say that I do not have lands under my control and forces at my command elsewhere in perhaps more exotic places.”

Like a host of machines and Arkonath fleet depots all over this planet, not to speak of the Dome down in the sea.

Suddenly looking up, Atlan nailed the frowning human with his gaze and saw him flinch a little.

“For now, let us say that my kingdom is not of this world.” The red-eyed knight smiled ironically and sharply.

“What I hope to be given by my liege-lady in later times-or how I might hope to be rewarded by other authorities who might appreciate my devotion and good service to their causes-is my own affair and lies in God’s hands. But I believe that I shall be equal to handle many a task of some delicacy and of some level of importance.”

The Earl nodded, impressed against his will.

“Which is all that should interest us now. Your Grace.”

Leaning back in his chair Roger Fitzmiles smiled wryly.

“Your arguments hit the target well, Sir Minstrel, and you only confirm some of my surmises and suspicions. Still-you have but spoken about yourself and given me a taste of your abilities. You have not handed me any token of mutual trust.”

The Arkonide sighed and laid down the quill, and rubbed his face with both hands, hiding it for a few moments.

“All right, Your Grace. I understand your need for reassurance that would let you trust me and my liege-lady better.”

“So-if you are wondering who might have informed ma Dame of so many details that she could send me on this errand so well equipped to the task-then look to a powerful count and duke in France who is known for his ruthlessness and prowess in a battle no less than his disregard of the church’s opinion or his charms and the handsomeness of his face and figure.”

Listening to the sharp intake of breath from Earl Roger Atlan shortly nodded and met his glance again. “The Duke and count does not do this for himself, for once, but has the interest of his son at heart.”

They exchanged a long look. The earl exhaled and smiled a little. 

“So you have not come from Paris lately, Sir Atlan, but from Angers.” Which was the capital of the Anjou and the stronghold of Count Geoffrey Plantagenet of Anjou, Duke of Normandy, who also was the father of young Henry and husband to Empress Maude, and who was called “le bel” for looking so devilishly good.

“Yes.” The red-eyed knight turned his attention back to his writing, apparently unperturbed. But he looked up again after a few moments, smiling slightly.

“Are you satisfied now, Your Grace?” he asked softly.

“Yes. I am.” The earl returned a warm and open smile and exhaled deeply. “I find myself feeling quite relieved, I must admit. Having to worry about your trustfulness and true allegiance made me feel quite nervous. You are a good ally to have, Sir Knight, and would be an enemy I would not wish to have against me.”

The Arkonide grinned. “Thank you for the compliment, Your Grace.”

It was not long then till he could present the other two letters, and confirm their addressees.

“Ciphering is a problem we still have to solve”, Earl Roger mused, rubbing his chin and looking away into the distance, while slowly walking to and fro, rereading the letters. It was quite late, and they had only tomorrow left to decide these matters. After the wedding night spent in the castle, the minstrel would ride away with his wife and his squire, having no honeymoon with her but what he could make of it on the journey.

“The one my future father-in-law constantly writes to, and who must therefore be his partner in conspiracy, is my bride’s great-aunt Angharad”, Atlan said, nibbling a bit of cookie the servant had brought together with another tankard of good ale.

“None other than she can be the one who would have sent the letters on in Wales, or her husband or her son. In short-Alexandra’s Welsh family must know where to send what and how, and whom to avoid. As her husband, I am sure that I will be trusted well enough to be let in on the secrets.”

“The Welsh are a people that keeps to its own.”

“Yes. But they will trust me-I know their language and their lays.”

Surprised the Earl of Hereford raised his eyebrows. The Arkonide bowed slightly in sitting.

“The Welsh poets of old have written some of the best poetry existing, Your Grace”, he simply explained. “As a minstrel, I could not avoid learning that and was entranced by that rhythm and the music the Welsh have. In my younger years, I sought out a Welsh poet to be my teacher and learned his language from him. Which makes an idea come to my mind.”

With a frown, he leaned forward and began to write again after he had dipped the quill into the inkpot once more.

The text emerging was as much gibberish to the Earl Sheriff of Hereford as the original letter had been. But the red-eyed minstrel was smiling, his red eyes alight.

“The letter is in Welsh now, Your Grace-and ciphered according to an old lay of the Welsh which is quite famous among their bards, but which will not be known among people not knowing that language. I have put two lines of that poem at the beginning to give the clue. Whoever wishes to decipher this letter will need a bard’s help to do so, and the ones who will know are to be found only at the courts of Princes. So, it will be the addressees who inevitably will get these letters into their hands even if I were murdered and the letters were stolen.”

Earl Roger laughed softly. “Ingenious, Sir Knight. And these lines are-?”

Atlan grinned mischievously. “Tri lloneit prytwen yd aetham ni idi. Nam seith ny dyrreith ogaer sidi. Three times the fullness of Prydwen we went into it. Except seven none came back from the Fortress on the Hill.”

Coughing slightly the earl grinned back.

“Anyone not Welsh will be lost indeed. And anyone not a minstrel as well. It sounds good, but I have no clue whatsoever what this is all about.”

The red-eyed knight’s grin widened. “Oh, nothing to worry about. Only death and destruction and valour unmeasured, tragedy and loss and hope and longing and magic of the most powerful-whatever a good true fairy tale is equipped with to enrapture hearts and minds of women and men, Your Grace.” He laughed softly.

Slowly the earl shook his head, against his will impressed again.

“One day when we have time I shall ask you to relate these tales to me, your harp on your knees and good wine to our hands, Sir Minstrel”, he murmured. But then he straightened his shoulders briskly.

“It grows late, Sir Atlan, and you have a great day ahead of you. Go to your bride now, she will await you with longing. As to this cipher you have devised, it is ingenious indeed, and will be the one we will make use of.”

He bowed slightly with an almost malicious smile. “Good night, Sir Minstrel, and sweet dreams to you all.”

“That he didn’t even mention chastity before a wedding or offered a single room for Alexandra speaks volumes about the man”, the logic sector observed as the Arkonide went back to the guest room he shared with his wife-to-be and his squire. “He truly is neither observant of the rules the church would impose nor is he unduly scandalized by behaviour like yours. Knowing that the two of you have been intimate before and that tomorrow your wedding will not be one sanctified by the church, he cares little about the conduct of the two of you. On the contrary, I believe he wishes to keep Alexandra from being able to change her mind at the last moment. In your arms, she will not be expected to do that.”

No, she would not-as she truly would not, having decided for him, and being in love with her lover as she was anyway. But it was true that the earl would not see the ingenious plot the strange knight was to put into action hindered by a young woman who reconsidered about a marriage. The matter of the Honour of Lancaster was too good a ploy and too necessary a remedy to conflict to be jeopardized in any way if it could be helped.  
And it was a matter he would have to explain at length now to his lady love, Atlan thought with a sigh, along with his alleged liege the Queen of France and the relationship he had had with her, which had been more than just the one of a servant and courtier with his sovereign.

“You see, my love, I had to give a good reason to him why I should know about the path and why I should ride to the north, and with you. It all was to prove without a doubt that I am on his side and working for the Angevin party.”

Alexandra nodded, standing there in her shift since she already had been in bed, while Gromell frowned, apparently trying to understand the whole matter or matters intertwined.

“You could not have done otherwise, leofwine, not after finding out about my father being involved as he is, and if you could dazzle and convince the Earl with some reason he might understand, then the better.”

She hesitated. “Neither do I mind about-about the Queen of France. That was four years ago, wasn’t it? As you describe it, this sounds more like a friendship between equals at times or even like a pupil and her teacher, apart from the time when you knelt and sang to your Queen as a proper troubadour should do.”

The Arkonide smiled and took her into his arms, holding her tight, and kissed her, long and deep.

“Yes, it was, my love, and my relationship with the Queen held all of these aspects. We were-and perhaps are still-friends, and conspirators together for the sake of a brighter future for mankind, and at times we played with each other, making fun of the game of courtly love. But if we did, it was a light dalliance for both of us, with no consequence at all for either of us.”

The young woman nodded. “But now you are ostentatiously acting in her interest. What if she hears and finds out and-“in worry she turned a little and stepped back, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Do not worry.” He smiled and bowed to her with a flourish. “I know about her plans from observing the court of France from afar, as I do it with the English or the German one. All of what I do and plan to do is truly in her interest and coincidentally also in young Henry’s, and so in the clear interest of the Angevin party whom your father works for also. She will not know of me having been sent by her, of course, because she did not, and so will deny it-which is what I have said that she would do since my mission is such a secret. As to marrying you-please believe me, my beloved Alexandra, that I never have known or heard of you before we met at the tournament, and that I never had any plans about marrying you before-“

“You fell in love with me. I know. Any woman would know. The way you look at me proves everything to me I would wish to have proven, leofwine deor.” She smiled mischievously and stepped forward again, taking his head between her hands and drawing it down a little to let him kiss her. 

He took her into his arms again, their kiss deepening till their breaths came deeply and swiftly.

“Let me show you how much I love you, cariadol”, he gasped, his hands going into her shift and stroking her naked back, oblivious to the squire’s presence who smiled a little and silently stole out the door, closing it firmly behind him, and sat down on the guard’s bench not far from the guestroom where two men already had taken their seats, greeting the young Saxon with friendly nods and offering a game of knucklebones. Grinning Gromell accepted. It would be some time before his services would be sought again, he knew.

The morning dawned crisp and clear. Poor Alexandra still had no other female clothes to wear than her festive ones from the tournament feast, but that had been cleaned and brushed by the earl’s servants till it appeared quite unused. She looked glorious in it, Atlan mused, seeing the flowers the maid had braided into her hair. There was myrtle as well to symbolize faithfulness and married bliss, and beneath it –Alexandra’s face shone like a radiant star in truth. He could not take his eyes away from her, not from her face, her smiling mouth, or her eyes which were glowing so wonderfully and looking at him so full of joy and love he felt all aflame himself, his lips curving up helplessly in spite of the dignity he should muster.

“Sir Knight. Atlan my friend.” Gromell cleared his throat again. “Time to go, my friend, if you want to attend mass in time before you will be wedded.”

Which they intended to do, yes, and which was no problem for the Arkonide because he would but have to listen, not to participate as the man banned from the church’s beneficiaries that he was, officially.

So they walked down the steps, their hands joined, and were greeted by a beaming earl Roger and his smiling wife whom they had met yesterday at the table.

Alexandra truly was radiant. From the Earl’s castle to the cathedral it was not too long a way, but the couple to be married still rode there in the wake of the earl and his wife, their horses' manes and tails braided with flowers and green ribbons too. The Arkonide could hardly move his eyes from his beautiful bride, and Alexandra-well, whenever she laid eyes on him in his dark green, white, and silver finery she blushed, which made her look even more beautiful and entrancing.

Gromell, having been decked out in the best spare clothes they had won by combat, wanted to help his master down, but was surprised that the knight had leaped down lightly form his tall black stallion as if he had sat upon a pony, and offered his hands to his bride himself instead of having her helped down decorously by a servant or his squire.  
The young woman took her bridegroom’s hands with another blush and so shining a look that the young Saxon had to hold his breath. Those two were almost oblivious to what was going on around them, at times. Sweet Christ but those two were in love and looked happy! Any stir they had made before at the inn would be contradicted by those looks now!

The people, lined up at the sides, cheered for their earl and the couple that would be married. It was astounding how swiftly the news had made the rounds-from the scandalous arrest of the strange red-eyed knight at the Benedictine sisters’ priory to the sanctuary claimed at the altars’ steps with five arms men keeping watch with naked sword, from the knight’s return on horseback and free together with the earl and the guesting of the couple at the Earl’s castle in honour.

The true sensation was that the handsome knight with the odd colour of hair and eyes was come from afar, could for the sins of his liege lord not marry in church, and would do so by handfasting though he was a noble knight. But his lady at least was Saxon, and the rumours about the sickness this man had successfully fought and the cures from the Holy Land he had used to save people’s lives had been told and retold since yesterday evening.

Now that such a handsome donation had been given to the parish and another purse had gone to the beggar’s hospital yesterday, brought by the young Saxon squire, the citizens of Hereford were quite willing to cheer this foreign and so generous knight no matter his wedding was so unusual-and so like any poor townsman’s or peasant’s of Saxon descent.  
Oh yes, this wedding would be a memorable one and would quite make the stir they needed, Gromell mused as he followed his master up the steps into the cool and dimmed interior of the cathedral. Candles burned, and wax dripped, smelling of honey and other fragrances.

The couple to be married, as guests of the Earl, got seats in the Gloucester family pew, and no-one, watching the strange white-haired knight, could have said that he lacked reverence or devotion for the altar or the Christ when He was presented to the faithful by the bishop’s consecrated hand.

The bride was blessed with communion, and so was the noble knight’s humble squire, while the knight himself, kneeling in prayer with closed eyes, was at least signed with the cross and that way received a special blessing also since the bishop, accidentally, held the host in his hand when he did that before he offered it to the bride.

“Neatly done. Many saw!” the logic sector commented. Yes, the purse bishop Gilbert Foliot had received personally had been quite heavy, and so had the massive golden ring been that the bishop wore even today, showing off the gleaming ruby it was set with.

“Could be found and brought to you by the dwarves of the mountains indeed, faery king”, the extra brain teased its mental partner. Alexandra had had such a look on her face when she had seen that ring yesterday…

Mass was done, and the choir sang a beautiful missa est as the townspeople filed out, the earl and his entourage waiting this time to be the last to go.

When he exited the church with his bride on his arm Atlan saw a very touching sight.

The poor of the hospital knew very well who, and why, had paid for such a meal yesterday evening for them and for new covers and blankets, and new clothes they had been presented with. To repay the donor a little they had gone out into the fields this morning and had strewn the spot before the church’s door with flower petals so thoroughly no-one could see the ground anymore.

At his side, Alexandra sniffled softly through her radiant smile. She would marry upon a veritable field of flowers!

Standing side by side the couple bowed and curtsied to the earl and his noble retainers who stood in a circle to be witnesses, and then turned to each other. A space toward the church had been left free where the bishop could be seen standing just inside the nave, in a dignified pose, his acolytes behind him. He could not be called a direct witness since he was within the church, but he had as clear a view and could hear as well as any man and woman within the circle.

The Arkonide turned to his bride and smiled at her. Now. It was time. 

They took each other’s right hands. The Earl, smiling broadly, stepped forward as the primary witness and produced a green ribbon he wrapped a few times around their hands, binding them together, and stepped back.

Looking deeply into his bride’s wonderful green eyes the red-eyed knight declared in a loud and clear voice:

“I, Atlan of Arcon, take thee, Alexandra of Lancaster, to my wedded wife, till death doth us part, and thereto I plight thee my troth.” He took a ring out of his belt he had had Rico supply, a golden band set with a sapphire and an emerald, and put it upon his wife’s ring finger. She smiled at him, her eyes wide and shimmering. One could drown within such a gaze…

“I, Alexandra of Lancaster, take thee, Atlan of Arcon, to my wedded husband, till death doth us part, and thereto I plight thee my troth.” She, too, had received such a ring yesterday to put upon her husband’s hand, the twin of the one he wore, and she did so now, her fingers trembling a little. 

They stood, looking at each other with glowing eyes and a joyful smile. The world around them seemed to be forgotten until the Earl of Hereford stepped forward and loudly declared: “Sponsaliam per verba de presenti attestor.” I bear witness to the marriage by words of these here present.

The other witnesses repeated that sentence as loudly, testifying to the marriage that way; and the bishop stepped out of the church and graciously spoke a general blessing, drawing three big crosses into the air, ostentatiously blessing everyone and yet accidentally drawing these crosses over the couple which had knelt amid the flower petals, facing him. Tears were running down Alexandra’s cheeks. This was a marriage as legally binding and as valid as any done in a church, and the bishop and the Earl had done their best to make it as blessed as it was only possible.

They were not done yet. There was something else to witness and to testify to before the whole town and the nobles of Hereford.

Holding Alexandra’s hand still, bound to her by that green ribbon, Atlan stood and loudly said:

“I herewith proclaim and will have it known to every man and woman and child in this good country of England, and beyond in the whole world, that I renounce any claim for myself on any dowry or possession of my wife, or on any lands or goods she might inherit.”

Gilbert Foliot, the bishop of Hereford, listened intently. This was secular business, of course, but of great impact. And he, having witnessed everything throughout though he could not be an official witness, would surely be asked by the lady’s father about what had been said in detail, and what that would come to-and the first sentence alone already was interesting. The red-eyed knight had omitted the word “title” right now. Also, he had disclaimed any right of possession only pointedly for himself, but not for the lady or their children. As good as this sounded, the man was a fox. Whether he governed and administered any lands that pointedly belonged to his wife in her name or did so with lands he owned in his own name practically made no difference. It would have if she disagreed with a plan or arrangement of his or would sell her lands or bestow them on someone else-but in fact she could do nothing without his permission because a wife had to obey her husband in all things.

“I keep to me and reserve the right for myself to fight and dispute for any claims of hers in her name to protect and preserve her rights and that of her family in her name as it is the duty of a husband to protect his wife and act in her interest.”

To that, the audience nodded and agreed readily. Of course, a husband must not let his wife down and had to protect her, and fight for her and her rights if necessary. And no-one seemed to notice that this could one day become a major loophole for the Sir de l’Arcon to steer around his declaration of disclaiming elegantly. Damn, the man was a clever fox!  
And now he produced a sheet of parchment, written elegantly in advance, which said exactly the same, and asked the witnesses of his marriage to read it and attest as witnesses also that he had exactly in this way abandoned any right of possession for himself on any goods or lands his wife might own.

Smiling a little the bishop stepped forward in his turn and signed his name to the whole document, this remarkable declaration of abandonment, which in fact was one but in name. He had been asked to add the church’s support and sheen to this handfasting marriage by his kinsman the earl for political reasons, and he had readily given it since bishop Foliot owed his new see to Earl Roger Fitzmiles in truth and was on the same side politically, seeing more use and a brighter future in bold and wily young Harry FitzEmpress than in mild Stephen’s cruel son Eustace.

But he would, he admitted to himself as he ended his signature with a flourish and threw sand upon it, gladly have done so even without the political use. To help out a man as wily and witty as this strange red-eyed man was, who clearly knew diplomacy on a grand scale at the courts of dukes and kings, was a personal pleasure to him. Bishop Gilbert had been to Reims with archbishop Theobald of Canterbury and could see that now for sure.

And here they had the official placet of the church, as the bishop had, oh-so accidentally again, signed and witnessed the marriage contract along with the declaration of disclaiming. Atlan could have laughed out loud at the bishop’s graceful and dignified deportment. The new ring he wore glittered impressively upon his hand.

Then the bishop inclined his head to the earl and as graciously to the married couple and went back into the church, whose doors were closed behind him.

The Arkonide bent and gave his wife the kiss he had been craving to give her for minutes now, and was kissed back as lovingly. Then he turned around with her, holding up their hands, and loud cheering washed over the cathedral square. The earl clasped hands with the newly married husband while his wife embraced the new wife, and to more clapping and a lot of well-wishings called out the happy new-married couple got to their horses to ride back to the castle to have a wedding feast as happy and decent.

For that also Atlan had paid the earl handsomely, who had taken the money with a pleased smile and had promised the best services of his cooks, which had proven true. Alexandra, who had thought to have to ride through England as the mistress and lennaun of a landless knight saw herself the flower-decked centre of a proper and happy wedding celebration, with the guests, though only minor nobles and retainers of the earl’s household but for Earl Roger himself and his wife, wishing them well happily and raucously enough, beginning to call out the age-old jokes one said to a newly married couple. It was all much more dignified than a Saxon peasant’s marriage would have been, but it was funny and wonderful all the same. 

That the Earl had done this to spite the church and to ensure that the messenger whose success was vital for the success of the alliance would be properly acceptable at any prince’s or king’s court didn’t hurt either. He was clearly enjoying himself and was having fun, and, a little in his cups, halfway through the feast suggested that the newly-weds be conducted to their room.

It was good that he did that now and not later when most of the men would be really drunk, the Arkonide thought, and let himself be dragged up and carried away while a few laughing women bore away Alexandra to help her undress and put her to bed before the male horde arrived.

Throwing more flowers the women disappeared, and the men followed the trail after some more horsing around, which entailed halfway undressing the bridegroom, feeding him special treats with unveiled allusions as to the strength he would need soon, and all the obscene little jokes any drunken male horde at such an occasion would indulge in.  
Atlan felt somewhat bemused and almost touched as he let himself be dragged along. These humans here knew him not and meant just well, a few of them even referring to the healing work he had performed and thanking him for the help he had given to a relative or a friend of theirs-those were minor nobles and retainers of the Earl, not rich and landed knights and nobles of higher rank, and their heartfelt and simple thanks were moving his heart. 

He had witnessed such wedding tomfoolery before, but he had not expected ever to be the recipient and centre of the fun. Gromell was at the back watching keenly whether his master was but moderately shoved and pushed, but it all was still mannerly enough. The men were not fully drunk yet, thanks to all the Gods.

In their chamber the trail of flowers ended, and there, hidden under the covers, the bride awaited.

The husband was relieved of his cotte and his shirt and turned around and around, asked to find his beloved and then pushed towards the bed where he still arrived gracefully enough, and sought shelter under the covers swiftly in the arms of his wife.

The horde hooted and catcalled and went its way at long last, with Gromell as the last one wishing well most heartily and closing the door, at which action the newly-wed husband left his wife once more to throw the bolt.

Filling a cup put at the ready with fragrant wine he came over to the bed and offered it to Alexandra, who dared to emerge from the covers far enough to sit up and take the cup and drink a few sips.

“Now the advantage of this arrangement is, we do not have to get to know each other and try everything out the first time now”, the Arkonide laughed, and bent over his wife to kiss her, lightly first and then more and more deeply, caressing her lovingly and more and more rousingly as well.

Within a few minutes, they both were sighing and softly moaning, and fully undressed swiftly to get back into bed together.

“My wife, my wonderful, beautiful beloved wife”, he whispered to her and began to stroke her breasts and thighs gently but so pleasurably that Alexandra’s eyes widened and she began to moan out loud, softly beginning to whimper when his fingers found her dell and vale, caressing her knot and probing deeper.

“Atlan, my love, leofwine deor, please-come to me, please-“she whispered, in a voice having become husky and low. 

He lay down at her side, kissing her throat and letting light kisses run down to her breasts where he began to suck and lick her while he carefully covered her, softly moaning with anticipation as he felt how hard he had become and how much he desired her. Gods, she was such a wonderful woman, and he loved her so much, and now she was his wife, and he, her husband-  
Sighing with pleasure he entered her, determined to go slow this time, and truly savour this joy, giving his beloved wife as much pleasure as he could, letting her feel how much he loved her.

This was why this was called love-making, he thought, as they looked into each other’s eyes and breathlessly smiled at each other, their gazes drowning in each other’s only to find that they were borne up on each other’s feelings, the love they shared, joy and the feeling of oneness rising, rising-

“Leofwine, leofwine!” Alexandra cried out, writhing with pleasure and joy, holding on to her beloved man’s waist, feeling him thrust into her. Their passion and pleasure were mounting, growing, waves of sensation and feeling and emotion together rising ever higher, carrying them up and up towards an enormous climax that made them writhe and cry out, calling each other’s names in ragged voices.

Then sweet relaxation set in and let Atlan sink down upon his wife’s body, panting and holding on to her hard.

So did she, drawing him down to her, embracing him and holding fast as if she never would let go again. Tears ran down her cheeks despite her brilliant smile.

“Oh my beloved”, she whispered. “Stay with me, stay, and never go away again, never-“

He laughed softly, gently and sensually kissing away her tears which he knew to be tears of joy, not of pain or fear.

“I’m here, my beloved wife”, he whispered back to her. “Alexandra, my love, ke mayth’ isara, I am here.”

He kissed her and let his lips run down her body, giving her light kisses till she gasped and moaned, caressing her gently and so sensually she sighed his name again and again.  
Turning upon his back he heaved her up and let her slide down upon his stone-hard member, making her whimper softly as she let herself feel the sensations that gave her, making her shiver from head to toe.

“Ke mayth’ isara”, he whispered to her, telling her that she was his beloved wife, and told her what it meant and that this was his own language from the stars.

“What does husband mean?” she asked as she bent down to kiss him back, and when he told her she smiled radiantly.

“Ke mayth’ isan”, she responded then, holding his eyes once more as she began to move up and down upon him, massaging him so sweetly he had to groan out loud. Oh, Gods, this was good, so good, so wonderful, oh how he loved this woman, oh how he could drown within this green-shimmering gaze-

Once more passion and joy rose in waves, pounding through their rhythmically moving bodies, the pleasure they felt making them whimper and moan. They held on to each other as she threw back her head and moved swifter, softly whimpering her beloved man’s name.  
He stroked her and gave her sucking kisses at her nipples, which made her gasp and groan, and cry out loud as she came, writhing on top of her husband so strongly he could not hold back any longer, coming intensely in the same instant, crying out with her.

Slowly they relaxed and sank down upon each other, snuggling down in each other’s arms. Solicitously the Arkonide drew the blanket over his wife’s sweat-covered body.

“Oh leofwine deor, my beloved husband-how can the priests say that this is sin?” Alexandra asked drowsily. “This is so most wonderful. I am happy and so full of gladness, and yet tired-“

“Sleep a little in my arms, my isara”, Atlan whispered back. “Relax. You are at home with me. You give me joy beyond words, and we will have years and years of happiness together.”

She smiled and snuggled down even closer to him, and fell asleep indeed, while the Arkonide held his wife in his arms and felt pure joy and bliss, knowing that it would not last and that it would end someday, which made the joy he felt a little bittersweet.

But that would be then. This was now, the eternal moment of perfect joy and harmony. Kairos, the Greek philosophers had called that moment, and Dagor philosophy knew a like concept.

Atlan simply enjoyed watching over his sleeping wife, far too happy to waste this time sleeping. She would wake soon, and he would have a new suggestion for her then…

\+ + + 

In the end, waiting for a baby to be given away and left at the church’s door had asked too much of the master’s patience. The master was famished and needed to be fed and craved a human life and death to eat so much that they had had to try other means. 

The young man had become an excellent hunter by now and moved with true stealth as he crept up to a farmstead at the edge of the wood. On an outlying pasture, a young woman was minding the sheep, and had her little baby sleep in the sun, comfortably snuggled into a sheepskin. She herself was away down the slope to bring a strayed sheep back to the herd, and the opportunity was too good to waste.

Carefully the young man took up the child and held it gently to let it sleep on, and quietly disappeared into the bushes, vanishing between the trees. She would of course mourn, but the theft would be attributed to a wolf or a fox. They would be quite safe and could take their time with eating the baby’s mind, taking in its energies of life, and savour its death after, the master said, full of pleasant anticipation.

Sitting upon his tree trunk and looking down at the still sleeping baby he held in his arms the young man shivered. He had been taught to fight and kill and had no trouble killing an animal at the hunt or a man who attacked him in war.

But this was somewhat different. This little baby was innocent of any misdeed and had no ill-will or guilt upon its conscience. 

“The animals we ate were not guilty of anything either, and as innocent”, the master chuckled, laughing at his pupil’s qualms. “This is neither here nor there. I need this life to feed me, and I need it desperately. Moreover, it is perfectly proper for me to steal a child, and have it sacrificed to me. Only I will not leave a changeling in its stead.”

The master chuckled again, in a good mood because his yearning was to be fulfilled very soon now.

The young man did not get the joke immediately, and when he eventually did, after a short pause, he held his breath, and sat wide-eyed, trembling with awe.

This was what the country people said about the fairy lords who lived in the mounds, that they stole away small children and left changelings in their beds instead. Then, his master was of their kind, such a great and powerful being…and he was so honoured to be allowed to be a pupil of so great a man!

Wide-eyed and still filled with awe, he bowed over the child and nudged it to have it wake, and when it started crying, he eased back his consciousness in now well-practiced ease.  
The master rose within him, almost hastily and full of greed, and overwhelmed the whimpering baby’s spirit within a moment, gobbling it down and taking in all the child’s energies.

It had more consciousness of self than any animal had, already, but it had not woken to become a full person yet, and the young man was able to stand its death pass by him, watching closely what these energies were doing to him and his body as the master had instructed. The surge of power he felt was almost intoxicating and felt surprisingly good, as if he were lying with a woman. Of course, this was the same kind of thing, the power of life running through his veins…

Satisfied, the master surged back and ceded the mastery of arms and legs and hands and feet back to his devoted servant. Fascinated, the young man looked at the thing in his hands, the coarse cloth the farmer girl had woven containing a husk that was shriveling even as he watched, too small to give off much of a stink, and eaten too thoroughly to have much left upon the bones to rot.

Now, the master said mysteriously, there was something new he would show his pupil, and teach him. He should call a crow to him and then a raven, and take the bones of the baby and go to the small cave that the water had washed out at the end of the loch, a place where no-one would go because it was of ancient power and feared by the ignorant farmers. But it was an ideal place to worship and gather more power to them. A man, be he immortal Sidhe or mortal human, needed a deity to look to, and the one that would guide them was Tethra, with bloody Badb at his side, one of the aspects of the Morrigan. They would build an altar and give sacrifice and receive more power in return. It was time the young man learned some of the rituals which were ancient and had served uncounted generations of draoi from long ago. As well it was time that he was consecrated and taken into that ancient order and brotherhood and learned about what he was destined to become.

Almost overwhelmed, the young man sank to his knees and stammered his thanks to his so generous master, who would make him great beyond any of his imaginings. In his mind’s eye, he could see the wonders the master was showing him, anticipating what he would learn and experience in the near future. He took out the green crystal which held the essence and the soul of the master and held it up to the sun and the sky, singing in wordless exultation. The master sang with him, guiding their voice, and made their song into the first incantation and hymn to Badb, and told his pupil that they would leave the castle at night as well to do the same because Tethra was death and darkness personified and could be worshiped only by moonlight.

Carefully the young man wrapped the tiny bones into the cloth and folded it to put it into his hunter’s bag. He still had to call a fat roe to him which this time would not be eaten by the master but shot with an arrow, to be brought home to the hall and explain his absence to his brother as time spent hunting, and successfully. His brother would be full of approval at his growing prowess and would have no idea what he was up to in truth.

Absentmindedly, he reached out with his mind and almost immediately found a crow flying above which he called to him. The bird flew down and landed upon his shoulder, and staring into its eyes he took its mind and its will. Quietly the crow dug its claws into the leather of the hunting shirt and stayed as the young man went on, looking for his roe and a raven. The bird's black eyes gleamed dully and sightless, but that was as it was to be.


End file.
